


Wake-up Call

by florahart



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, consensual drugged sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:18:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/pseuds/florahart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil wants Clint to wake him up with sex, but he always wakes up before there is any sex being had.  Which seems like a shame, so on consideration, they find a way to get him what he wants.</p><p>Or: alternative uses for anesthesia that leaves a patient compliant but unremembering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake-up Call

**Author's Note:**

> Phil is drugged here, and while I think it is clear that he wants this and has negotiated it, and I think it is clear that Clint is both concerned about overstepping and careful to keep checking in, still, if the scenario where one party is not going to remember a chunk of the action would bother you, this may not be the fic for you.

It's a scenario they've talked about from every angle either of them can come up with and he even knew it was coming, but still, when the dart hits him, Phil jolts awake, startled, just for an instant, from a sound sleep. It's the kind of sleep he only gets safe at home, where the sounds of Clint moving around are nonthreatening noise and don't rouse him in the least--and in fact, if they did, if he was not deeply asleep, then he would call this off, because if they did, he would know he actually _doesn't_ feel safe, that this is the sort of thing that's better to remain a fantasy instead of being enacted. So it's a good thing when the needle pricks and he blinks himself awake with a silenced sharp breath and a bursting rush of panic-- _attack, attack, where's Clint, need my comm, maybe my phone_ \--before he remembers that he's home, he's safe, and Clint needs him to confirm consent before he'll go on.

He opens his eyes, knows it's slow because he has about five seconds before he's out--but that's okay because he's still clear enough to find Clint's eyes in the doorway and nod. "I'm in," he says.

And then he smiles and lets his eyes drop closed as he listens to Clint's footsteps, louder than Clint ever needs to be so it's surely deliberate, approaching.

Clint's fingertips are warm on Phil's back, and Phil puts his tongue out, licks his lips. It's weird, the awareness that he's basically unconscious, that he feels and understands what's happening but will, in a little while, awaken with no memory of how he got to where he is. But this is the only way Clint could feel all right about what Phil wants to try, so this is how they're doing it.

"Still all right?" Clint asks, dragging the sheet down past Phil's ass as he grunts something that might be taken as assent. He's naked, warm from deep sleep and pliant because that's kind of the point. Clint turns him on his back and lifts him up to put a pillow under his ass, and asks again.

Phil can't answer verbally, which they expected. Each of them has seen the other under the influence of this drug twice before, because they are nothing if not thorough, and Clint reminds Phil, he _can_ answer nonverbally--nothing complicated, because the medical usage of this drug is anesthetic, for procedures where the doctors need the patient cooperative and able to participate a little. 

In fact, that's where they got the idea; Phil awakened from this stuff once, after an injection into his shoulder, and needed to see the footage to be sure they'd done the procedure at all. No memory and apparently no pain, but hazy quasi-consciousness during, and he'd known this was something he wanted to try.

Because what he wants, the fantasy they're playing here, is to wake up with Clint already fucking him. But Phil has been a Ranger or an Agent for decades now, and it's simply impossible for him not to waken far earlier than he wants in such a scenario unless he's drugged. They've tried, they've pretended, and it's close but not quite. And so, he's drugged. A little. Enough to accomplish the goal, not enough for him to be unable to refuse something--they checked.

He manages to lift a hand and spin it, a familiar signal for go-go-go, then goes back to resting where Clint puts him, on his back, legs splayed wide as he listens to the nightstand drawer, opening and closing. To his own breathing, even and unhurried. To Clint, kissing his way up Phil's thigh, which he feels, in the sense that there is pressure and coolness he knows must be the air against the wet trail of Clint's lips and tongue, but he doesn't actually feel the tongue or any pleasure, any more than he would feel pain. It's too bad; he loves Clint's mouth.

When Clint pauses, Phil's puzzled, but then he realizes there's another question, and he puts up another go-sign to move things along. Or at least, something close enough; the video of the practice run shows him cooperating clumsily, even in things he knows--knows without a doubt--he meant to be doing. What he does is good enough for Clint, though; he shifts his position and moves ahead with the plan. 

The sensation of the fingers working him open is strange, but brief, because all at once, Phil can't feel a thing. He just _is_ , floating on his back with some idea his legs are spread wide, but he can't feel the pressure of the mattress, or the dip when Clint moves. He can't be bothered to open his eyes. He's asleep, dreaming of course, and everything Clint does is fine, just fine, no complaints.

It's a little weird knowing oneself to be asleep.

Or to be referring to oneself as oneself in a dream.

Or to be dreaming one's boyfriend is sliding in, balls deep, while one ponders somnolent grammar.

 

...not that the grammar is the thing that's sleeping.

 

...well, that's all right, though. Phil's sure he's had weirder days.

 

 

And then he startles awake, eyes opening slowly and then wide as he takes in Clint unexpectedly and suddenly above him, trembling, holding himself still as he watches Phil rouse, and that's not right. Clint's arms are ridiculous, and he doesn't tremble from--oh. _Oh_. Phil gasps as sensation follows consciousness and Clint is not just above him, but in him, still and waiting for his response, a bead of sweat dripping.

"Phil? Still good?"

Phil swallows against the startled noise that tries to escape his mouth because he knows very well that this game is at the very edge of what Clint can do, and if Phil seems frightened, it's going to fuck it up. So he grins, hums, nods, his cock filling faster than either of them could reasonably have expected--he's fifty-two, and for all that he puts in the time to keep his body fit, that hasn't ever done a ton to change that his cock is also fifty-two. "Still good. Very good," he says. "Now shit, _move_." He pulls Clint down to him and wraps his calves around the backs of his knees, rocking up his hips both to move Clint inside him and to enjoy the friction as he presses against Clint's belly, of the pubic hair grinding against his perineum.

Clint groans and gets with the program, pulling out and sliding home hard. "This what you wanted?" he asks, muffled against Phil's neck and shoulder.

Phil finds Clint's hand and shoves it between them, helping him find Phil's cock, gripping it with him. "What do _you_ think?"

Clint squeezes with him and gives a sharp little nod that says okay, yes, we're doing this, then slides his other hand under Phil's neck to grab his shoulders for better traction and starts fucking him with intent, jerking him off to the same rhythm, sucking a bruise into the dip above his collarbone and generally--as ever, really--overwhelming Phil with so much sensation he comes almost before he realizes he's going to. He feels Clint's cock jerking and spurting inside him, and that's it, he's done. Clint's coming in him something like sixty seconds after he wakes up, and if science says he can't get off that fast, well. Science has been wrong before.

He really doesn't want to let go of Clint, but he's trying to drop to one side and so reluctantly Phil lets him roll off, and then he's lying there, limp as hell, his own come sticky on his belly and Clint's wet on his thighs. He turns his head. "Good?"

Clint purses his lips. "Yeah, but..."

"But what?"

He shrugs. "What do you remember?"

Phil shakes his head. "Going to sleep. Waking up with your dick in me. Unbelievable orgasm."

"And you're okay with that?"

Phil grins. "Because it's you? Yep. Why, did you make me sing karaoke first or something?"

Clint stares, then snorts. "No."

"Good. So, you never want to do that again, do you?"

Clint pauses. "Do you?"

"Again, with you, sure. But you're worried you liked it, and you've indulged me once." Phil rolls toward Clint and meets his gaze. "So now, what boundary of mine should we consider pushing?"

Clint rolls away and gets up to go find a damp towel, and for an instant Phil feels a tiny stab of concern, but he knows Clint, and knows sometimes he needs a few seconds to organize his thoughts when people do alarming things like trust him, so he waits, and in thirty seconds, Clint's back, sitting on the edge of the bed and wiping up the mess on Phil's stomach. 

"No answer?"

Clint shrugs. "I'll think of something."

Phil snags the towel and tosses it away, then pulls Clint close. "Good."

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've had procedures done with this kind of anesthetic, and while I'm given to understand this varies, it's at least possible to go from 'asleep' to very alert very quickly. Of course, I have also been known to try to get up and leave while under a general anesthetic, too, so my standards are probably pretty screwed up. Anyway, I'm pretty sure this would be an unusual degree of quickly, but I mean, it allows for porn, so either go with ~handwaves~ or imagine your own drug for which this scenario makes sense.


End file.
